bonds (that tear us apart)
by fiesa
Summary: Suddenly, it is back, as if it had never been gone in the first place. OneShot- Leia, Luke / Ben, Rey. Sometimes, between leaving and being left, remembering to hope is the hardest thing.


**bonds (that tear us apart)**

 _Summary: Suddenly, it is back, as if it had never been gone in the first place. OneShot- Leia, Luke / Ben, Rey. Sometimes, between leaving and being left, remembering to hope is the hardest thing._

 _Warning: Contains spoilers for The Last Jedi._

 _Set: During/after the movie._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

 _i. Breathe, Leia._

Suddenly, it is back, as if it never was gone in the first place.

In the darkness between sleeping and waking, between unconsciousness and dreaming, in the space left between dying heartbeats: she can _sense_ him. It is like a sudden, vicious stab into a wound that has been left to scab over for years and that has never fully healed. The pain is excruciating, throws her off her game; for a second, her heart stutters. Her lungs refuse to work. She gasps; drowning, suffocating.

Something touches her shoulder, infuses her with warmth; a presence long lost and missed even longer.

 _Breathe._

So she focuses on her breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Dimly, she senses her surroundings; a narrow berth in sickbay. A once-over reveals she survived the exposure to vacuum better than expected. The cool press of bacta patches on her skin is proof that there isn't too much tissue damage; her chest and her throat feel sore and raw and she is being monitored by at least one medi droid.

But she is alive.

She remembers: darkness. Emptiness. _Cold,_ excruciating, terrifying cold. Resolve, perhaps her own, and then: _it will be alright, little one._ Seems like she picked up some tricks from Luke, huh. Perhaps due to prolonged exposure? Sense of irony: intact, then. So seems her mind. She should probably thank the Force, should she, only that she is not entirely sure she wants to. She lost her son, her brother and her husband – what of her trust does the Force deserve, anyway?

There is a tug at her heart. Dim, soft, insecure. Desperate. Horrified. Chastising. Ever the teacher.

 _Luke._

He is there. The brother she has not seen for decades, the presence she has not felt since the worst day of her life. She can _sense_ him: dim but clearly, like an ember in the ashes. Almost covered, almost extinguished; but when has Luke Skywalker ever been able to lose himself completely? He is incapable of it, much like her. _Some siblings we are._ The touch of his Force presence feels alien and familiar at the same time: he is older, hesitant, eaten up from the inside and worn around the edges. His hair is grey and shaggy, an unkempt beard covering his features. He looks and feels and seems lost and weary and exhausted. And, the worst of it all: devoid of hope.

 _How can you chastise me for losing my hope if you don't have any anymore?_

Hero of the Rebellion, first of the New Jedi Order. The flame that rekindled the hope that led to the Emperor's death and the end of the Empire: Luke Skywalker feels like he has given up.

She remembers him, a day in their lives, when they had long found each other. Their bond had been strong, especially after Ben's birth, as if Han's long periods of absence and Luke's search for answers within himself, before he had run off with Lor San Tekka, had brought them closer together. It had been as if they never had been separated in the first place: she had felt him, always, dimly but aware. Like a part of her she had never known had been missing had been replaced, and now she was complete. She'd come upon them, one day, Luke holding a peacefully napping Ben in his arms, on the top of the pyramids of the Hanging Gardens on Hosnian Prime. He'd been telling Ben a story – or maybe he had been singing to him, she couldn't remember clearly anymore. But Luke had been looking at the sky, the whole time.

 _You always looked towards the horizon, Luke._

Idealistic.

Luke had always been that way. It was another character trait they had shared – had shared, because Leia is pretty sure she lost her idealism somewhere along the way. Perhaps along with her ability to smile freely, has lost it as irreversibly as her ability to not care. At one point – alone, without her husband and her son and her brother, alone with only the few people that trusted her, and whom she trusted – she stopped being idealistic. It is impossible to cling to ideals when people around you fly to their deaths, believing you have sent them out for a reason; impossible to remain detached and visionary when you walk onward and onward and everyone you hold dear leaves you. But Luke. He had wanted to pass on what he had learned, had wanted it so badly. And he had wanted his students to not make the mistakes he had made. He had never stopped dreaming of a better future; one in which everyone would be happy, and life would be peaceful.

Leia lost that belief ages ago. And oh, she is so tired of it all. Of being there, of being _present_ , of being responsible while not being responsible _all the time_. Of seeing children die. Of losing family. Of losing friends. Of being alone, alone, so heart-shatteringly alone all the time despite the people around her.

She just wants to give up.

She just wants to fall asleep, drift away. Close her eyes and leave everything behind her, stop thinking, stop caring, stop feeling, _stop_ –

 _Leia!_

The terror in his voice makes her smile ruefully.

 _I know. I'm sorry._

Leia Organa Solo wakes up.

* * *

 _ii. Why?_

It is familiar, by now.

The silence. The sudden absence of sound, scent and presence of everything that ought to surround her. Like she is wearing noise-cancelling ear-protection while being in the cockpit of the _Falcon_ : the constant vibration of the life support and ventilation, the peeping of the com, the reactors quietly running on stand-by – all gone. The pelting rain, the wild ocean, the wind: gone. She is surrounded by vacuum, is the only living and breathing thing in the emptiness of space. The only thing she hears is the steady sound of her own blood in her ears – and two sets of heart beats.

Kylo Ren.

Dark hair and dark eyes, the scar across his right cheek prominent and painful. His pale face is oh-so-white in contrast to his clothes. The skin of his chest is smooth and as pale as his face; she does not know where to look at, at first, and then she can only look at him.

"Say it."

Rey shakes her head. Feels the cursed tears spill again, despises herself for a weakness she knows she possesses and yet cannot leave behind.

 _"Say it."_

How can he be so calm when he is challenging her to ask him the question that still makes her ache, makes the pain in her chest flame up like a hydrogen flare? She wants to scream, wants to rage, wants to attack him with the blasted light saber that she has been carrying around like a precious artifact. The apparently utterly useless symbol that she thought so important when she first found it, and that Luke Skywalker discarded with a simple flick of his wrist.

"Why did you kill your father?"

She whispers the words, her voice breaking. And expects him to scream at her, to shout and rage, even to attack her, as he did in the snowy forests during their last encounter. But the following silence is wordless, empty – and, at the same time, is not. It is filled with something that feels so familiar to her that she has to consciously stop herself from reaching out. Her fists curl, her nails biting into the palm of her hand, but even the pain pales in comparison to the emotions she feels from Ren.

How can it be?

 _How can it be?!_

How can he be grieving his father, when he killed him with his own hands?

"Let your past die," Ren says, his face devoid of any expression, but the depth in his eyes is earth-shattering. Reaches out to her.

Rey hates him. Hates him with a passion she never thought she had in her, hates him with a depth and a ferocity that heats up her insides and lets them burn and shrivel to ash, until nothing is left, nothing except for the hate inside her. Hates him so much she could die.

 _Dark. Light. Balance._

Was this what Master Skywalker was trying to show her? Was this what he was refusing to see? Or is it just her own self, useless, naïve and untrained, powerless in the face of the one person she has sworn herself to face, and to ask this question? She, who is just a Nobody from Nowhere. Rebel? Ha. Jedi? Stang, she did not even question the call of the Dark Side when it reached her. What is she expecting? She barely managed to return BB8. She barely withstood Ren's Force torture. She barely survived the fight with him. She did not manage to save Han Solo. She could not protect Finn. She has not been able to convince Luke Skywalker to return.

How many failures are necessary to finally make her give up?

The Cave.

Master Skywalker called it a source of the Dark Side, but there is no darkness she finds in it despite the natural absence of light. Instead, she finds:

 _Nothing._

Because that is what you are, a voice whispers in her mind.

Kylo Ren regards her from the other side of the makeshift fire in her hut. The depth in his eyes hurts her almost physically. They both were betrayed by things they trusted in: he by the teacher he loved; she by the Force she wanted to believe in. An uncle trying to kill him. A quest for answers that is left unanswered. Where is the similarity, she wonders, and where the difference? Why has her experience in the cave influenced her to the point that she not only sees the monster in the man before her, but the man in the monster, as well?

The darkness in the cave was not necessarily the Dark Side. Maybe the darkness in Kylo Ren's eyes is not necessarily the Dark Side, either? But if that were true, would it matter? He might not have killed Skywalker's students, but he did kill his father. Can someone who orders or endorses atrocities like the attack on Hosnian Prime _not_ be tainted by darkness? Could someone kill his own father, and not Fall? This seems to be entirely against everything the Force stands for, from the few glimpses she has gained through Master Skywalker. And the more she sees, the more confused she becomes. She is nobody. She never mattered, never will. She was left behind on a desert planet, all alone; she might have found friends but ultimately, nobody had been able to help her on her quest. She would never learn the answer. She would never belong, not like Finn belonged to the Resistance or General Organa Solo belonged to the galaxy. She will forever –

A sob almost punches its way through her chest.

She will forever be alone.

Kylo Ren regards her, calm and unfathomable, from the other side of the fire. He is as real as she is; more real than the storm winds and the rain outside her little, dim hut. More real than the old man a few places over who refuses to teach her. More real than anything she can imagine right now, ever felt before.

"You are not alone."

The conviction in his voice is… staggering.

 _Thank you_ , Rey wants to say, her first instinct, her first thought. All the gladness at his lie – this precious, kind lie – pours into the two words, all the grief and the knowledge, all her pain and her acceptance. And then her gaze is drawn back to his eyes, and she sees her own pain and fear mirrored in them.

Rey makes a decision.

"Neither are you."

If they are so similar, why force the differences? If Master Skywalker made mistakes once, why can he not be wrong this time, too? If they are connected, if there is no Dark Side in the cave, if there is no difference between dark and light and balance is all that matters – if, if, if – does that really mean they have to remain antagonists forever? Can she not seek comfort in him, just once? And can she not be comfort to him, just this time?

His hand is calloused, like hers, and cool.

The instant their fingers touch, Rey _sees: A kaleidoscope of colors, a spinning wheel of images. The future rushes past her, wildly, so fast she cannot react, cannot even begin to comprehend._ His hand warms. _And then, quite suddenly, images jump out at her, like holos, frozen in time; a man, a woman. Two hands, meeting. An embrace._ Thank you. _The sensation of peace, so overwhelmingly strong, impossible to fathom –_

 _"NO!"_

The world explodes around her; her hand is torn from Ren's. Their connection shatters like glass, disappears as if it never has existed at all, and the fire flickers out. Luke Skywalker looks down on her, fear swirling around him in the Force so thickly she chokes on it. His presence is heavy, oppressing, and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, Rey feels bile rise in her throat and swallows desperately.

"What did you do!"

 _Ben,_ she thinks, numbly. _Ben! Wait!_

But he is already gone.

* * *

 _iii. I am here to end this._

There were only few times when Leia Organa Solo thought everything was lost.

Those times had been few, and she is not proud of them. Her father – and despite everything, Bail Organa will forever be the one she regards as her father, Anakin Skywalker's redemption or not – taught her to be strong. He believed in her, he was _proud_ of her. He taught her everything he had known. But he never taught her to give up.

Still.

Imprisoned in a grey, cold cell of a star destroyer. Tortured, starved. Alone, lost, desperate: there is no place left for optimism, for the painful, hardened cynics the elder resistance fighters have taught her. No place left for wishing. No place left for hope. It felt the same, that time, the same as now: of the thousands of resistance fighters that survived the fall of Hosnian Prime, roughly five hundred survived the evacuation. Four hundred were transferred to the transporters that fled to Crait, were barricaded within its mine. How many are left? She cannot count anymore, just knows that these people she sees here – at the monitors, at the long-range com, the last survivors from the trenches – are all that are left. These are the last ones, the only ones, the desperate survivors of this war she began, these people who have fought and killed and watched friends, family and fellow resistance fighters being captured and tortured and die in a myriad different, horrible ways, and – _too much._ It is too much, too horrifying, too terrible to believe. She should have died on the _Raddus_ , should never have made it down to the planet. Instead, she survived to lead her people here, to this planet they finally would die on.

Another deserted planet, another trap.

Leia Organa Solo has stared into the desert far too often, and the deserts had stared back, every time. Each time she lost something precious; this time, there is nothing more to lose. Nothing more she can do.

 _Please._

 _Someone. Anyone._

 _Save us._

But nobody answers her last, desperate plea: she is alone, alone with the burden of these last few lives that still look at her as if she knows everything, as if she can save them from anything. Have they not seen how many people she has already sent to their deaths?

All the things that have carried her until now: Ben's smile. Han's warmth. Luke's presence in the Force. They are all gone. All is lost.

 _This is the end._

Like once before, he comes when all hope is lost.

As if on an unheard signal, every eye turns towards the door; everyone is silent – the last of what is left of the Resistance hold their breath collectively. It is as if his presence alone takes their strength away and then returns it; warmer, easier, the very air surrounding them suddenly easier to breathe. Like he has infused them with warmth, given them strength. Hope of the Rebellion, last and first of the Jedi:

Luke Skywalker.

And she can feel him, again. Something Leia always missed, already thought lost – it is back. Like it was never gone, like she just stopped noticing it and was made aware of it again. It is mesmerizing. It is heart-breaking.

 _You never lost hope, little sister, never will._

Leia smiles, tremulous.

 _Sometimes, between leaving and being left, remembering to hope is the hardest thing._

He takes her face into his hands – they are rough, lined and worn, the hands of a moisture farmer on Tatooine, the hands of a man used to manual labor. The hands of the Sword of the Jedi – a fighter, but a teacher, nevertheless. The hands of a man who distracted himself with everything and anything, afraid of the next, fatal mistake.

"I am so sorry."

"I know. I am, too."

His lips touch her forehead, light like a butterfly's. The ghost of a touch. In her hand, Han's dice feel warm and solid. It is a good bye.

Leia wonders how many of these she can take until she breaks, for the last and final time.

 _You, sister mine,_ Luke says, and his mental voice sounds weary but amused and loving even over their sibling bond. _You are the strongest person that ever was, and ever will be._

 _I don't want to be strong anymore, Luke._

 _I know._ His heart is a place for her to rest in, warm and comfortable. He is a home that was left and returned to.

They are older.

 _But we still are us, Leia._

Leia closes her eyes. _Yes, we are._

It is all there is to be said. All she is. All they are. All she needs.

And then, the sensation of his hands on hers is gone; the sound returns to the world and Leia sees him smile, one last time: the ghost of the innocent, naïve boy that saved her on a star destroyer all those years ago.

 _My name is Luke Skywalker, and I am here to save you!_

On the other side of their sibling bond, Luke chuckles.

 _Oh, but Leia, you gave me hope more than once, too. Thank you._

And then he is gone, stepping outside to confront the one person the two of them have loved more than anything, and have failed.

* * *

 _iv. Please._

He expects her.

When Rey's capsule lands in Supreme Leader Snoke's hangar he is there; the expectant, now-familiar presence she has felt almost constantly for the past few days.

He is not the study of light and dark she thought him to be, when he looked at her across the fire and she could see the future in his eyes. Instead, he is once again clad in black from the top of his head to his polished boots. Leather gloves cover the hand she once touched; the memory is like a vibro knife to the gut.

 _(His hands were warm.)_

Rey looks at Kylo Ren – Ben Solo – _Kylo Ren_.

Emptiness looks back at her.

It should terrify her. It _does._ Rey holds her head high and clings to the thing that she has learned represents the Light Side of the Force more than anything: Hope. Storm troopers surround her within seconds, manacles click and fixate her hands in front of her.

Light.

Darkness.

She has seen both. Has felt both, several times: the memories she carries of the warmth of General Organa Solo's hands, the strength in Finn's voice when he put his trust in her. The pride in Han Solo's eyes. And: the painful absence of Luke Skywalker's presence in the Force, the rage and fear boiling beneath Kylo Ren's mask; the deep, cloying emptiness in the cave under the rocks of Ahch-To. Now it is the absence of the person she thought was Ben Solo and now is Kylo Ren.

"I have seen your future. You don't need to do this, Ben."

"I have seen your future, too. And you will join me."

Kylo Ren's presence is small. It never was like that before. He used to fill her, his existence suffocating and threatening at first, then soothing, almost kind. She cannot say when this change occurred; perhaps the moment he told her she was not alone, perhaps when their hands touched for the first time. Perhaps when she saw his future, so bright, so hopeful. When she realized that he, too, had a history, had made mistakes, felt pain and regret. As soon as she has time to think her actions over she will probably ask herself why she did what she did, how these snippets of the future were able to convince her so thoroughly that Ben Solo was not beyond saving. Will wonder what possessed her to jump into the _Falcon's_ capsule to go and find him in the middle of the enemy fleet. The doubts will come as soon as she stops to think – so she does not.

"You will tell me where to find Luke Skywalker."

The gut-clenching, suffocating, teeth-shattering pressure of Snoke's presence is unbearable.

Not dark. Not light.

Just…

Frightening.

She would run screaming, except that she cannot. _Because_. Finn. Ben. Leia. Master Skywalker. The Resistance –

"No."

Laughter, mania, but also, terrifyingly: security. He knows that she is untrained, unprepared. Not even a Jedi apprentice. She stands no chance.

 _Pain._

For a long time, it is the only thing she feels. Snoke's presence in her mind is like a red-hot iron poker, plunging deep into her consciousness. Twisting, turning, seeking, pushing, forcing his way through her innermost thoughts, plunging through her doubts. Laughing at her fears and then continuing on, seeking the hiding place of the last Jedi, hero, _Legend_. Finally letting go when Rey's endurance is at its limit, when she breaks under the unrelenting pressure and the memories float to the surface of her mind, unbidden.

An island.

 _Nowhere._

A broken man.

 _Nobody._

She can feel Snoke's laughter, his amusement, the moment he understands. This is his arch enemy, the one person he has feared more than anything: this shell of a broken man, the empty Jedi, hiding away scared and guiltily. Not a powerful Jedi, concealing his true power and teaching his successors. Not a Jedi Master, passing on his considerable knowledge. This broken person is no threat to him, not anymore. It is better than anything he could have imagined.

And finally, her use is spent. Snoke leans back, satisfied.

"Kill her."

Ben looks on, his pale face without any expression. The swirling storm of emotions within him is calm now, dark. Impenetrable. There was doubt there, once, insecurity and fear and loneliness. It was so much like what she had felt that Rey had thought – stupidly, naively – that they could change the paths of their destiny. She still hopes, still prays. But he is gone, no trace is left of Ben Solo. Kylo Ren looks at her, dark, impenetrable. The emptiness she feels within him burns in Rey's eyes like unshed tears, feels even more painful than Snoke's torture.

"I can see you lift your light saber and KILL YOUR ENEMY!"

A light saber ignites, _snap-hiss,_ sickeningly familiar.

Snoke's presence in her mind winks out like a suffocated fire; abruptly and finally. And suddenly, _Ben_ is there.

A light saber in her hand, familiar and cool metal. Another snap-hiss, echoed by his own weapon. His presence is steady and calm in her back and her strength is back, like it never was gone. Her exhaustion, the memory of pain – it is abruptly drowned out by a flood of hope that overtakes her. Her bond with Ben is back. It fills her with strength and determination and a feeling of relief so strong she wants to cry. Instead, she focuses on the sensation of his back against hers and then on the blood-red Imperial guards that are coming at them.

It is like nothing she experienced ever before.

Like she can feel him, like his presence is next to hers the entire time. They fight as one, in two bodies. Her soul soars, despite the strain, despite the danger they are in. The tunnel vision of her battle focus is doubled; she can see and feel both her own body and Ben's. He parries, Rey ducks, she feints to the left, he pushes through their opponent's defense. But there are many more enemies; they are separated, each one facing off several Imperial Guards. Still, he is there; the pain of one of the guard's claws slicing open her upper arm burns through her; she feels Ben flinch. He is a whirlwind of destruction, lethal arcs of energy beheading his opponents, cutting through armor, burning through flesh. His movements are methodical, almost beautiful in his economic use, her own, un- and self-trained attempts to copy his style fail painfully. But she holds her ground. And he, too, is aware of her presence in the back of his mind; watches out for her almost grudgingly. They fight –

And then, there is silence.

She cannot believe it, at first. Adrenaline still coursing through her, swirling and mingling with the Force, she looks at Ben – but he turns his back on her, walks towards the end of the room like in a dream. His Master's remains still sit on the throne, lifeless. There is an emptiness surrounding Ben that, by all means, should allow for easier breathing but Rey chokes on his emotions. Snoke's smoking torso topples to the ground with a dull sound and Rey thinks _we –_

Ben turns, and her blood runs cold.

"Kill it, if necessary."

His presence within her is dark again, suddenly, and she refuses – _refuses_ – but she already knows. His eyes are deep, dark and empty, the cadence of his voice cruel, even. She cannot stop tears leaking from her eyes, and she does not care for it anymore.

He is gone.

They were so close, so _close_ – and now he is gone, again. Whatever it is that connected them for precious moments, what made him spare her and kill his Master, instead – it is dead. Ben Solo is lost, Kylo Ren the only thing that remains.

"You are nothing. But to me, you are not. Join me." And, whispered, the truest thing she ever heard: " _Please."_

Rey never knew that the sound of a breaking heart was audible.

* * *

 _v. See you around._

He feels her, in the midst of the fight.

Well _._ Maybe it is too much of an exaggeration, to say that this is a fight. For one, he is not even physically present. Ben – Kylo Ren – is the only one exerting his body, trying to cut to pieces the one person he hates most and, in his anger he fails to realize that his enemy is not even there. Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, is seated on the stone ledge of the ancient Jedi Temple on Ahch-To, immerged into the Force so deeply that nothing is impossible anymore, and _prays._

But it is too late, anyway. He knew that already.

The Force. It burns through him, scorching him from the inside. It was there when he called on it, as if it never had been gone. No welcome, because he had not been gone, either, just the sense of warmth and balance and eternity that always had been there. Now, he can feel it course through him like a living beacon, taking everything and giving it back, burning bright and all-consuming. Ben shifts his stance, flicks his light saber, and Luke stands, waiting, until the dance begins anew. He knows: he will not fail.

Not this time.

 _Sword of the Jedi._ He almost snorts as he recalls the title the New Republic forced on him, last Jedi of old and first of the new. They felt they needed to make a point; Luke had no choice but to accept. But he had known, for the whole time, that it was too much, too close: he could not risk to have his new Jedi work for the government. It was, after all, one of the things that had brought out the fall of the Jedi of old. Of course, he had made other mistakes, so once again the Jedi had been brought to the brink of extinction. But as the darkness rises, so does the light. Rey, as Master Yoda had so aptly observed, had everything a Jedi needed: strength, intelligence, experience. And, most importantly: hope and trust. Leaving her behind like this tugged at his sense of responsibility; he had always loved to teach, had enjoyed watching the children under his tutelage learn and grow. But who knew, maybe he would be able to teach her a bit longer? Master Yoda certainly seemed to drop in whenever he thought it necessary.

Ben faces him, panting, hate and fear shining in his Force aura so brightly Luke wants to cry.

"Strike me down and I will be with you forever, stronger than I ever was."

Luke would not be surprised to see his grief color the very air Ben breathes, it feels so all-encompassing. It mixes with Leia's, a mother's sorrow, endless, overwhelming. For a long time, his grief has trapped Luke. How is it that Leia, who lost so much more than he did, never faltered?

Ben's light saber cuts through Luke, and the world ceases to exist. And explodes in pain.

For a few seconds, it is the only thing he feels: burning, raw agony. His entire body cries out silently. The Force that filled him seconds ago, so all-consuming, is gone, leaves him empty and broken. A candle, he supposes, there is only so much of the Force a human body can hold –

He barely feels it as he tumbles from the stone seat, crashing to the ground and losing consciousness.

There is nothing but the silent calm in his mind and the sound of the oceans and the winds when he awakens, hours or seconds later. He feels light, like hee is floating. Still, it takes him several tries to heave himself back unto the stone seat.

At the horizon, the binary suns blaze, fire and gold.

 _Hope is like the sun._

It makes him smile. Luke Skywalker does not remember when he truly smiled the last time, or when he last felt like this: so completely, overwhelmingly and entirely filled with the peace and warmth the Force brings. He does not know how he can still be alive, breathing, his heart beating, when his entire body, all his cells, imploded with the power of the Force that was necessary to project his image across the galaxy. He does not know whether he has seconds left or minutes, and whether it was enough. Will it be enough? Have his actions bought the Resistance the time to flee, has he stopped Ben long enough to make a difference? Have his lessons taught Rey enough? Will he ever see her again?

Despite his age and his experience and even despite his strength in the Force, Luke Skywalker does not know so many things. But he knows that this is the end.

 _Leia._

His sister is there, the beacon of strength and hope in the midst of the galaxy. Distracted, exhausted, but on her way towards safety. It worked, his gambit was successful; he can sense Rey, too, her previously dim light now a fire even brighter than Leia's and his own, faltering one. It makes sense: she will be the light of hope the galaxy will turn to, she will rekindle the spark of the rebellion. In the distance, he can feel his sister's grief.

 _Oh, Leia._

Ben. Han. And now he, too. Everyone is leaving her, and she still has to stay. She is being left behind, and there is nothing she can do. She knows that.

And Luke knows that.

He can feel her pain like his own, through their twin bond that once again blazes in his mind like a nova. Leia was the first person he felt when he learned to immerse himself in the Force completely, all that time ago, on Dagobah. She was the one who was constantly with him, wherever he went, the person closest to him. Even when light years were between them, literally and figuratively, she was the constant presence lingering in his heart and mind: not always reassuring, sometimes distracted, sometimes not sharing his pain and doubts but always trusting in him. Cutting himself off from the Force would not have been painful if not for the loss of her; it had been his punishment, a constant reminder of his failures. And when he, after such a long time, connected with the Force again, she was the first thing he felt: grief, desperation, sadness. And calm, too, and, most important: hope. Leia would never believe him when he said it in the past, but all the strength she always said he had given her, he had drawn from her.

 _Good bye, Luke._

The touch of her Force presence is forgiving. It is a blessing, an absolution.

 _Go, brother mine._

The sunset is glorious. He refuses to blink, trying to take in all the beauty. And here, filled with the Force so completely that it burns him from the inside, his life with all his failures and achievements behind him, he suddenly feels…

 _Peace._

A sensation he had thought lost, never expected to feel again. Like floating in the sky, towards the horizon; the sunset painting the clouds all colors of the rainbow.

 _May the Force be with you, beloved sister._

* * *

And then, just like that, the Force envelops him entirely, and he is.

 _Always._


End file.
